They tried their hardest to make today as eventful as it would've been under normal circumstances. The potters were party people and hosts at heart, and a little prophecy wouldn't ruin that. Halloween, in their experience, was best spent with an intoxicated Sirius Black, cologne battling firewhisky for the first whiff you got of him, a slightly less intoxicated Remus Lupin, just enough to get him all smiley, and a babysitting Peter Pettigrew, his best self sat on the ground playing with a baby. This year, the three guests were not permitted, but they were there in spirit.
In years past, the crew had matched costumes. In seventh year, Lily had convinced them to go as the mystery-solving team in scooby doo, herself as Daphne and James as Fred, Sirius as Scooby, of course, with an accompanying Shaggy Remus, and Peter as Velma (being the only option left available). The next year, they were muppets- animal, gonzo, miss piggy, kermit, and fozzy, respectively. This year, they swore to plan earlier in the year, but fell short of this plan, leaving James and Lily to come up with their own ideas of what the boys would be dressed as.
“You know Remus would much rather dress as himself if given the option. Maybe something simple, like Sherlock Holmes.”
“Who?”
“You really have no clue? I thought the wizarding world would share at least some media with muggles!”
“Right…” James laughs, moving on. “Well, Pads has been wanting to do a little red riding hood with Moony, maybe they convinced Pete to be the grandmother?”
“You think they'd pick a three person group? Leave us out on purpose?”
“Maybe, we sort of did the same to them.”
James looks down to his lap, the golden fur of the Cowardly Lion costume stained with spit up from breakfast with Harry- or should he say the Tin Man. Lily does the same, playing with the blue gingham of her Dorothy dress, hiding the forming bump from her second pregnancy.
“I don't know if i'd say that. I like to think Remus read our minds and is the Scarecrow, with Sirius as Glinda and Peter as...maybe a munchkin?”
The couple sits for another few minutes in a comfortable silence, leaning against each other as the warm glow of pumpkin scented candles sets the background for their little Harry, playing with the funnel they'd painted silver for his costume. The couple had spent weeks crafting a perfect halloween playlist, strewn through 3 cassette tapes to play on Lily's radio. The outro of the Eagles Witchy Woman faded into Warren Zevon's Werewolves of London, a hit they'd added solely for their Moony. The two jolted up when they heard the famous cackle and footsteps.
“Oh merlin. Quick! Upstairs!”
“What? No! Are you crazy James?”
“Maybe. Please, Lily, go!”
“I'm not leaving you h-”
“Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off!”
Before the redhead could fight back, James had swept their son off of the floor, kissing his temple and handing him to his mother. The two were forced up the stairs as the clacking of boots grew closer and closer.
With no warning, the door was kicked in. Lord Voldemort stood in the grimey living room of the cottage in Godric's Hollow- baby toys scattered around the floor, music still going, James still in the lion suit. His first instincts were saying wand! leaving James looking a fool as he patted around his waist, finding no pockets for the wooden stick to have been left in. Still, with a brave mix of courage and stupidity, James doesn't back down as the man speaks.
“Mr. Potter, making a fool of ourselves as a gryffindor lion, I suppose?”
“Cowardly Lion, actually.”
“Who?” the dark lord asks, dropping his guard a sliver at the calm response.
“Cowardly Lion. Wizard of Oz? Come on, isn't your dad a muggle?”
“Do not speak of him!” voldemort pouts, a bit of a stomp like you'd see from a toddler. “We're not here for him! We’re here for you...or more specifically, that boy of yours, yes?”
“Right, right, yeah. Yeah, here for him.” James rambles, beginning to panic. “You wont get him without a fight!”
“Seems a bit unfair, considering you've left your wand behind for this muggle...costume.”
The dark lord smiles, his perfect teeth shining through his chapped purple lips. James looks over to the radio on the kitchen table, preparing as Elvis Presley's Witchcraft begins to thump through the speakers. James’s right hand shoots up to his head, elbow bending to create a triangle. His left hand extends before him, and without warning, begins gyrating to the side with the beat of the song.
“What. the. Fuck.” Voldemort curses, dropping his wand to his side as he watches the display James is putting on, keeping eye contact as his hands switch positions and he gyrates the other way.
“It's the sprinkler, dude. Dance battle.”
“Sprinkler? What do you speak of!”
James leads his opponent to the monitor sitting on the desk in the lounge, connected to a Sinclair zx80 home computer Lilys parents had gifted them, conjuring a picture of a water sprinkler.
“That's a sprinkler, it moves around and squirts water like…” James starts, finishing the demonstration with his dance again. “So this dance is the sprinkler. Got it?”
“What do you do? Like this?” voldemort asks, putting both hands to his head and thrusting his pelvis in the air
“No, no. One hand has to be the water.” James pulls one hand from Voldemort's head, helping speed the process along. “And you want to move to the side, not forwards and back.”
The two work on the dance for a moment until the dark lord gets the hang of it, moving back to the center of the lounge space, declaring the rules for their dance battle.
No stealing moves, must be on beat. Magic only used if a man goes down. Best dancer wins.
Immediately as the next song, Neil Sedaka’s little devil, cues up, the two begin.
“Check this! The shopping cart. Oh yeah!” James shouts over the music, adding skips to the popular dance as his arms reach for invisible groceries.
“Hmph. nothing compared to the...twist!” Voldemort shouts back, beginning his dance.
The two throw more moves at one another, each one combating with an even edgier dance. James’s arrogance begins to come out as Voldemort shows capable of only a few more old-fashioned dances, like the mashed potato, and continues to be shocked at the ability of his younger opponent. He had to admit, Potter had some killer moves.
“You've never seen moves like this before!”
Completely ignoring the second Elvis song in the mix, Devil in Disguise, James brings himself to the ground, breakdancing against the carpet. He does a head spin, backflips into a handstand, and walks on his hands down the stairs. Voldemort stands in awe as the lion costume splits, revealing the 6 pack carved into James’ abdomen from the years of quidditch, and the happy trail in between the v lines of his hips. A bit of drool begins to form at the corner of the dark lord's lips as he stares. That is, until James misses a spot on his hand, slipping onto the toy broom gifted to Harry from his godfather. He lands on his back on the steps, leaving him down and out of the battle. With quick reflexes, Voldemort pulls his wand from his robes, aiming the end towards James.
“No!’ he shouts, raising his hand as an instinctual blocker.
“Avada kedavra!” the man shouts, green light spinning out of the wand and into James’ chest, leaving him limp and lifeless.
With a high pitched cackle and a spin, Voldemort steps over the body, heading upstairs to follow the sound of Lilys sobbing, where he assumes the boy must be as well. His head is in the game now. No distractions. No mercy. He pushes through the door of the nursery, spotting Lily holding onto the bars of Harry's cot for dear life, tears pouring from her face and trailing down her full cheeks.
“Lillian, step aside my dear.”
“No! No, I won't!”
“Lillian-”
“No! That's not even my name!”
“Fine!” Once more, he recounts the killing spell, letting Lily spill to the ground. He eyes the child, watching him bounce against the mattress as if he hadn't realized what just happened. Voldemort squats down to his level, moving in closer to his face.
“Harry potter. What a pity, you had two foolish parents. Now the boy in silver...will become the boy in….erm….the boy in….gah! The prophecy was right! Your power will be too much for me. I can't hardly think of an insult for you and those...huge...innocent eyes. You know, you remind me a bit of a younger me. With the right guidance, you could be nearly as powerful as me…. What are these mind games you play with me, child!”
Voldemort continues his monologue to the bumbling baby for minutes longer, before looking out of his bedroom window and spotting the sky is much more navy than black.
“No more of this! Say hello to your mummy for me, child. Avada Kedavra!”
The green light bounced off of the baby, now protected with his mothers love, and ricocheted back to Voldemort, completely destroying his physical form. The house returned to its original state, no evil speeches. There was still music, and still laughter from the small child, ignorant of what was going on. There was still a pumpkin sitting in the corner of the room, and bats replacing the normal snitches and brooms strung on his mobile.
Almost immediately, a scoff can be heard from downstairs after the notable sound of the door opening. James never had fixed that hinge. The sound of a body rolling over could be heard, shortly followed by someone creeping up the steps.
A man with greasy black hair appeared in the doorway, the first thing of the night making Harry cry, interrupting the Searchers Love Potion No.9. He'd never been so horrified, looking at pure ugliness like that in his house. He began to scream and cry, waiting for his mum to pick him up and save him. His tears stopped for a moment as he saw his mothers face rise through the bars of his crib again, but resumed quickly as he realized the lubricious man had a hold on her. His pale, dry, pustule-covered skin held tightly onto his mothers plump figure, keeping her captive as the gross man's own tears contaminated her fair skin and red braids.
The ugly monster shot him a look, disappointed that the child's screams were interrupting his own perverted mourning. The man's hand traced over her figure once more, and his lips (or lack thereof) grazed Lily's mouth, leaving a slobbery circle around them. He reluctantly stood from the floor as another man's voice came through a translucent phoenix, asking for his whereabouts. Finally, the disagreeable debauchee left the room, and Harry's crying came to an end, as he self soothed through the lack of his mothers care.
Hours pass, and finally the door of the flat creaks open a third time, a wail escaping the visitors lips.
“Prongs! No, no, no.” Sirius Black says, crouching to the floor to grasp onto his friend's chest. He can't mourn for long, remembering his best friend's heir up the stairs. He could, however, note something quite morbid about having to step over the deceased body of his brother as Monster Mash goes on in the back. It had always been their favorite song.
It seems Harry takes after his father this way, as well, as Sirius finds him dancing in the crib to Bobby Boris Pickett's voice. Sirius picks the child up, rocking with him for a moment as Harry lays his cheek to the man's shoulder, feeling drowsy. A much taller man follows in the room and begins a discussion, keeping the toddler awake.
“Please, I'm his godfather, Hagrid. This is what they would have wanted!”
“I'm sorry, Sirius. Really, I am. But I have orders...Dumbledore's orders. I'm sorry.”
Through frustrated tears, and a hell of a lot of hesitation, Sirius hands the baby over to the giant and wipes his eyes.
“Take the bike. Keep him safe.”
Harry didn't keep track of much after that, but he does remember the loud roar of the motorcycle drowning out the last notes of Don't Fear the Reaper.